


As Much Soul As You

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Case Fic, Get Together, M/M, Slow Burn, canon-typical discussion of sexual abuse, discussions of sexual abuse of children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-02-13 10:24:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21492799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: Dominick Carisi, Jr., son of an underboss in the Bonanno Family, flees New York to turn state's evidence against his family. Rafael Barba is sent to see what sort of information he has and, unintentionally, finds himself entirely too curious about the man he meets.(AKA The Mobster AU Mforpaul asked for that has already gotten away from me.)
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 110
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

McCoy walks into Rafael's office with the kind of swagger that tells Rafael something big has landed on their table, and he's going to trust Rafael with turning it into a case they can win.

"What is it this time?" Rafael asks, tossing down his pen and kicking his feet up on his desk. 

McCoy sits in front of Rafael's desk and interlaces his fingers over his stomach. "Dominick Carisi, Junior," he says.

Rafael narrows his eyes. "One of the Bonanno Family associates, right? His dad's a made man?"

"Carisi Senior just got promoted to underboss," McCoy replies.

"And, what? Junior's seen too much and wants to turn state's evidence?" Rafael blinks in surprise at the smile that cuts across McCoy's face. "No fucking way."

"Walked into the FBI regional office in Portland, Oregon two hours ago and said he's ready to talk."

"Oregon?"

"I'm guessing he's making sure he's out of the family's reach until he's in protective custody."

"Not a bad idea," Rafael replies. He taps his fingers on his desk. "Why are you coming in and telling me this? Shouldn't you be talking to the feds?"

"Junior's got proof of coercion to prostitution here in Manhattan. There's no current proof it crosses state lines, so that makes it our problem. And I'm making it yours. Get your ass over to Oregon and see what the guy has."

Rafael looks at the stack of case files on his desk. "How long do you think it's gonna take?"

"No idea."

"Who's representing Junior?" 

"He's declined counsel," McCoy says and grins when Rafael groans. "Thought you'd like that."

"I don't need to deal with a know-it-all trying to score a deal."

"Too bad," McCoy replies, completely unsympathetic.

"Couldn't he have proof of tax evasion?" Rafael mutters. But he stands and grabs his suit jacket, pulling it on as McCoy opens his office door and calls for Carmen on his behalf.

*

It's raining when Rafael lands in Portland. Two agents in cheap navy suits meet him at baggage, one holding a sign with his name on it. Not that he needs the help. After so many years as a prosecutor, he can spot law enforcement without trying. 

"Rafael Barba," he says, holding out his hand.

"Agent Devoe," replies the agent on the left. She's fortyish and trim with the sort of tan that signals a lot of outdoor activities. Her handshake is firm but not overbearing.

"Agent Lester," replies the other agent. He's probably closer to fifty, Rafael guesses, with more gray than brown in his hair. He's pale and freckled with the sort of easy half-smile that tells Rafafel he's going to get invited over for dinner at the man's house before it's all said and done. His handshake is solid. "How was the flight?"

"Long," Rafael replies. He shakes his head when Agent Lester gestures to his carry on in a silent offer to take it. "I've got everything."

"We're up one level for parking," Agent Devoe says, leading all three of them to the escalators. "We're putting you up in a hotel about a mile away. You can borrow a car or just take the Max."

"The Max?"

"Transit," Agent Lester says as they step outside into the drizzle and walk across a wide skybridge. "Get on the red line heading into the city and get off two stops later."

"We've got a packet of stuff to give you at the hotel. There's a transit pass in there good for two weeks. If you need more time, we can get you a second one."

"I'm hoping not to be here that long," Rafael says as Agent Devoe pops the trunk on a dark gray sedan. "Whatever Carisi's got, my goal is to get it back to New York as quickly as possible."

"He gave us a brief rundown," Agent Devoe says. "I think he's going to give you some pretty good information."

"Has he indicated _why_ he's suddenly turning on his family?" Rafael asks as they get into the car. He sits in the back and stretches, his body cranky at having to be folded into a seated position again so soon after the flight. 

"He's never been actively involved in the family business," Agent Lester says as Devoe starts to drive them out of the garage. "He's been aware of it, of course, but he's stayed away. At least, that's what he says. The information we're getting from the New York office confirms it so far."

"I reviewed some of it on the plane," Rafael replies. "He wouldn't be the first Mafia kid who kept himself free and clear on paper and still worked with the Family."

"True," Agent Lester agrees.

Agent Devoe pulls in under the carport of a Marriott. "We got you a single room, no smoking."

"Perfect," Rafael says as he gets out of the car. The agents follow him, Lester going up to the front desk to square away Rafael's room, and Devoe standing a ways back with Rafael.

"We're deep in the suburbs," Devoe says, "but if you want to get into the city proper, the red line will get you there."

"Where's the best place for a cup of coffee strong enough to peel paint?" Rafael asks, hiding a yawn behind his hand. 

Devoe grins. "Out here, it's all chain places, but Peet's should get you by. If you do go into the city, I can make you a list of local places that are definitely worth trying."

"How's the coffee in your building?"

"Burned."

Rafael manages a tired smile. "Oh, good, that's the same no matter what agency I'm dealing with."

Devoe returns his grin. Lester comes back over before they say anything else. He holds out a small, paper envelope to Rafael. "Room 719," he says. "You want time to freshen up before we get started?"

Rafael nods. "I need a nap, at least."

Devoe checks her watch. "How about we start fresh in the morning? It's already three."

"Where's Carisi?" Rafael asks. 

"Tucked away," Lester answers. "So far, there's no sign his family knows where he is, but we're keeping him under lock and key no matter."

"He'll be ready to talk in the morning," Devoe adds, and there's a moment where she and Lester share an amused look. "To be fair, he'll be willing to talk whenever you want. He's got a _lot_ to say."

"And not just about the information he has," Lester adds, and he and Devoe snicker together. 

"You better be right about the coffee," Rafael says in reply and is glad when they both chuckle. 

"Before you go," Devoe says, reaching into her jacket. She pulls out a small stack of pink tickets. "For transit. They're all day passes, good for twenty-four hours." 

"Thanks," Rafael replies, taking the stack. He says goodbye and follows the signs to the elevators.

The room is as blandly "hip" as any number of hotels Rafael has stayed at for work. The desk and dresser are done in a retro but modern style, and the linens on the bed are white. There's a Keurig, a microwave, and a mini fridge. There's no mini bar. 

Rafael looks up the closest place to eat. Being close to the airport, he's not surprised at the chain restaurants that show up in the search, and he's also not surprised that most of them make him pull a face at how terrible they look. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees one of his options is a Red Robin. He's eaten at one before. They tend to be clustered around convention centers, and they always have a bar. He can get a burger and a beer, and then come back for a hot shower and an early night. It's even within walking distance, which is a nice bonus. 

He walks to the Red Robin, happy to stretch his legs. He eats and has a beer, then goes back to the hotel. He takes a long, hot shower, then settles in on the bed with the television on low volume as he goes back through the current information he has on Carisi. 

There's a photo included, and Rafael studies it with intent for the first time. Carisi has dark blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He's only smiling a little in the photo, but he's clearly got dimples. His nose is prominent, with a sharp slope, and it fits well with his other features. 

Rafael tucks the photo behind the sheaf of papers in the file and goes back to reading. Nothing about his background strikes Rafael as particularly interesting. Like so many kids of criminals, Carisi looks good on paper. No crimes to speak of save a speeding ticket and a couple of parking violations. That doesn't mean he hasn't done anything illegal; it just means if he has, he either hasn't been caught or people have been paid off. 

He goes to Mass every week. He volunteers at a variety of charities. The occasional surveillance that's been placed on him since he became an adult--and possibly a made man--hasn't found anything that hints at criminal activity.

Rafael shakes his head at the information and tosses the file aside. He stares at the ceiling and processes everything he's read. There's nothing in the file to explain why Carisi is suddenly ready to turn on his family. It's not like the Five Families haven't been involved with prostitution until now. They've had a foot in the door for decades. Why is the prostitution the hill Carisi is prepared to--quite literally, possibly--die on?

Rafael can't figure out an answer with the information he has, and he's starting to feel the bone-deep exhaustion from a day of travel. He gets under the covers, beats the pillows into something comfortable, and settles down to sleep. No reason to dwell on questions he can ask tomorrow when there's sleep he can have now. 

His last thought as he drifts off is that it's a shame Carisi's a criminal. There's a cheerful, openness to his face that Rafael would find attractive in different circumstances.


	2. Chapter 2

Rafael wakes up at four in the morning and rolls his eyes at his body's insistence it's past time to get up. It's just past seven in New York, and it looks like jet lag is kicking him in the ass. He reaches for his phone and checks his email, then his texts. There's a text from Olivia from a half-hour before. It's a photo of Noah in his high chair. He's wearing a onesie covered in balloons and is making a disappointed face. 

**Liv:** He was insistent about trying my coffee.  
**Liv:** Try not to be ashamed he doesn't like it.

Rafael grins at the image and saves it to his phone. 

**Rafael:** He'll learn. 

He sits up in bed and stretches, knowing from experience that he won't fall back asleep if his brain thinks he should be awake. He's surprised to get a text back from Liv almost instantly. 

**Liv:** Why are you up? It's the middle of the night there.

**Rafael:** Jet lag.

**Liv:** My sympathies. Want to talk? I've got time before I need to clock in.

Rafael presses the button to call Liv and puts the phone to his ear as he opens the curtains. He's on the back of the hotel, overlooking the employee parking lot and the back of a different hotel. In the distance, he can see the economy lot for long-term parking for the airport. 

"Good morning," Liv answers her phone. She sounds amused. "Sorry to hear you're up so early, but I hope you at least got into town easily."

"O'Hare was only a minor hellhole, so I'm calling it a good trip," Rafael says. 

"Well, that's something," Liv replies. "Any sense of what this Carisi person is like so far?"

"Haven't met him," Rafael says. "I read his file, but we both know exactly how much of that can be useful."

Liv laughs quietly. Rafael listens to the sounds of the city behind her. "I've been fighting the urge to look him up," Liv says, "but I don't want to do anything that might even remotely make anyone look twice at the guy right now."

"Your paranoia is appreciated," Rafael replies, only half-joking. "The feds say he's tucked away and safe. I'll be meeting with him today."

"I know you won't sleep now that you're up, but at least try to get some food in you so you don't take his head off immediately."

"I'm in the suburbs, Liv. I make no promises."

Liv laughs, a bit louder this time. "Well, do your best. Call me if you need anything."

"I will, thanks."

Rafael disconnects the call and stares at the window for a few more seconds, trying to will his body back to sleep. It doesn't work, so he changes out of his pajamas and into his workout clothes. He takes the elevator down to the lobby and follows the smell of chlorine to find the hotel gym. A long history of traveling for work has taught him the gym is always next to the pool in places like this, and he smirks to himself when he sees the arrows pointing the way. 

He stops short when he rounds the corner. There's a man in a cheap navy suit standing outside the door to the gym. He looks tired but not unaware. He meets Rafael's eyes and picks up a clipboard from the chair next to the door. "Room number?" he asks. 

"Badge number?" Rafael replies before he can stop himself. He meets the unimpressed stare of the agent with one of his own. "I'm Rafael Barba," he says. "The New York prosecutor."

"Great," the man says dryly. "But that's not a room number."

Rafael rolls his eyes. "719."

The agent flips a page and slides his finger down. "719. Rafael Barba." He looks up. "Do you have any ID?"

Rafael blinks slowly. "Are we going to go full stop and frisk here?"

The agent gives Rafael another even stare. "Lucky for you, Agent Devoe sent me your photo."

"Lucky me," Rafael mutters and rolls his eyes as the agent makes a show of stepping aside to let Rafael swipe his card to get into the gym. "Any messages for Mr. Carisi?" he asks.

"Yeah, tell him to learn how to tell time," the agent replies. 

Rafael doesn't answer. He steps into the gym and pulls the door closed behind him, waiting for the latch to click before he looks around the room. It's empty except for Dominick Carisi, Jr., who is sitting at a rowing machine wearing very small shorts and no shirt. He's moving with a fluid grace that shows off his long limbs, and Rafael can't help staring for a moment. He's only human.

Dominick Carisi, Jr. looks up and meets his eyes. His easy, fluid movements stop short, and one foot slips off the rest at the end of the machine. "Rafael Barba," he says.

Rafael jerks in surprise. "Excuse me?" he says. "What did you say?"

Dominick Carisi, Jr. stands up, trips over the rowing machine, and just barely manages to catch himself before he faceplants. He looks around, then bends down to pick his shirt up from the floor. It makes his shorts tighten against his ass, and Rafael snaps his gaze away, focusing on the opposite wall until Dominick Carisi, Jr. is standing up straight and pulling his shirt over his head. 

"Rafael Barba," Dominick Carisi, Jr. says again, holding out his hand. "Dominick Carisi, Jr. But everyone calls me Sonny. I've been following your career for awhile. You're amazing."

Rafael stares down at Dominick Carisi, Jr.'s hand, then meets his gaze again. "Excuse me?" he says, the question coming out with a hard edge. "You've followed my career? Not really something a prosecutor likes to hear from the son of a mob boss."

"Underboss," Dominick Carisi, Jr. replies like it makes a difference. He drops his hand when he realizes Rafael has no plan to shake it, but he doesn't seem embarrassed. He's smiling at Rafael like he actually _is_ excited to meet him, and his dimples are deep. 

Rafael looks away again, glancing towards the line of treadmills and finding himself staring at himself in a mirror. He looks away before he can admit to the confusion and concern in his own eyes. "Why do you know who I am?" he asks, finding his equilibrium in facing down Dominick Carisi, Jr. with his best prosecution voice. 

Dominick Carisi, Jr. shrugs. "I live in Manhattan. You make the papers."

"It's one thing to read the papers. It's another to recognize me in a hotel gym," Rafael points out. 

Dominick Carisi, Jr. ducks his head like he's embarrassed, then lifts it again, meeting Rafael's gaze. His eyes are even bluer than the photo, and there's an honesty there that makes Rafael's spine tingle. "My security detail isn't great at turning his phone away," he says. "I saw your photo come in."

"That's not a relief," Rafael says. He cocks his head when Dominick Carisi, Jr. laughs. "Is something funny to you?"

Dominick Carisi, Jr. shrugs again. "I dunno. Honestly, I've barely slept since I got here, and my internal clock is fucked, and then you walked in looking pissed off, and…" He gestures abstractly, and Rafael notes his fingers are as long as the rest of him. "I dunno," Dominick Carisis, Jr. finishes. "Sorry."

Rafael looks him up and down, then looks at the treadmills, making sure he does not look in the mirror again. "I've got jet lag, and I'm not supposed to meet you until work hours. So, I'm going to get on the treadmill, and you can do whatever else you were planning to do, and I will talk to you at the office in a few hours."

"Sure. Yeah." Dominick Carisi, Jr. takes a step back, trips over nothing, and rights himself. "I'll talk to you later. Hope the workout is good."

Rafael bites his lip to keep from replying and walks over to the treadmill. He keeps his head down as he sets a speed and incline, but he has to straighten up to actually move properly. He catches a brief glance of Dominick Carisi, Jr. starting a set on the stair climber and fumbles his phone from his pocket. 

_Rafael:_ I just met the underboss's son. 

_Liv:_ Even you don't start work that early. 

_Rafael:_ Hotel gym. 

_Liv:_ Well? First thoughts?

Rafael stares at Liv's reply for two full minutes before he thinks of something to say that isn’t just a string of curse words. 

_Rafael:_ He looks taller than he is. 

Liv sends back a laughing emoji, and Rafael has no reply. He keeps staring at his phone as he works out, listening to the sounds of the stair climber clicking and hissing as Dominick Carisi, Jr. keeps working out. 

"Oh, no, he's hot," Carmen has said on more than one occasion when they've gotten lunch together and someone attractive has walked by. Rafael's always found it amusing, but he's never fully understood why she says it when, "Isn't he attractive," or "Wow, he's attractive," would work just as easily. 

He glances at Dominick Carisi, Jr. and watches his shorts tighten against his ass again. He gets it now. There's a certain level of attractive that short circuits your brain. 

_Oh, no, he's hot,_ Rafael thinks, and he does not look forward to meeting this man for professional reasons in a few hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this went rom-com on me, and I'm leaning into it.


	3. Chapter 3

He makes it through twenty minutes on the treadmill without Dominick Carisi, Jr. saying anything to him, but they both end walking towards the weights at the same time. 

"Need a spotter?" Dominick Carisi, Jr. asks. 

Rafael wants to say no, but he also wants to put an extra couple of pounds on the barbell to really give his back a workout. He's stiff from yesterday's travel and an unfamiliar bed, and it'd be nice to go into work not feeling like he's hunching. "Should I trust you?" he asks, rather than say yes. 

"Don't worry," Dominick Carisi, Jr. says. "There are cameras in here." His grin is pure mischief, no anger or dislike showing at all. 

Rafael considers it for another moment, then nods. "Okay," he says.

"What do you lift?" Dominick Carisi, Jr. asks, starting to unscrew the hardware that holds the weights on the barbell. 

"225," Rafael answers, unscrewing the weights on the other side. "But add another two-and-a-half pounds on your side."

"Sure." 

They get the barbell reweighted in silence, and Rafael uses the moment to consider exactly how stupid he's acting. The man offering to spot him is the son of a mob boss--and, no, Rafael does not give a shit about the "underboss" distinction. He could easily fake a slip and cause the barbell to fall on Rafael's throat or chest. He could press his weight down and force Rafael to take on more weight than he can handle, then keep his hands pressed down while Rafael fights the push. He could--

"There's a camera in the far corner in the back, the one aimed directly at the door, and a fish eyes in that light over there," Dominick Carisi, Jr. says, pointing to the light with the fish eye. "There's no blindspots in here."

Rafael doesn't meet his gaze. He looks at the light instead, trying to see the camera. There's a small, dark circle in the center of the fluorescent, like it's got a burned out spot. "Do you always case the room for blind spots?" he asks. 

Dominick Carisi, Jr. shrugs and reattaches the hardware to the barbell. "Some shit you learn by accident. My uncle was a scout and lookout, and I just sort of learned to look by watching him. He was real pleased about it, thought I had potential. But, well…" Dominick Carisi, Jr. shrugs again.

"You chose to stay home and not commit crimes?" Rafael asks, feeling sardonic but also a bit sympathetic. Rafael can read people. If Dominick Carisi, Jr. is lying for sympathy, he's the best liar Rafael's ever seen. 

"Pretty much, but I'm guessing you think I did some off the books stuff."

Rafael snorts, a chuckle surprised out of him by the arch look he's getting. "Isn't it all off the books?"

"Oh, come on, counselor, you know the answer to that is who's looking at the books."

Rafael full-on laughs. "I suppose that's true," he says. He sits on the weight bench and lays down, grasping the barbell to make sure he's got a good grip. "Ready when you are," he says. 

Dominick Carisi, Jr. does not fake a slip or force more weight onto the bar. He keeps his hands at the ready and quietly keeps count, encouraging Rafael to push himself without being obnoxious about it. 

"Come on, Counselor, two more. I know you got it in you."

Rafael pushes through the beginnings of muscle fatigue and manages two more lifts. Sonny grasps the barbell in the middle and helps Rafael set it on the bar. Rafael sits up and wipes his arm across his forehead, more smearing the sweat than getting rid of it, but it keeps it from getting into his eyes. He stretches slowly, sighing in relief when he confirms his back is no longer tight. He stands and turns to face Dominick Carisi, Jr., and the smile that's waiting for him nearly makes him take a step back. He's _glowing_, his smile so wide and his dimples so deep Rafael feels like he's about to get the best news of his life. 

"That was great! You did super well! Especially if you just got off a plane yesterday. I was useless for the first day after I got here."

Rafael doesn't know what to say to that. All he knows for certain is that the man he's talking to, all bright eyes and good humor, is not Dominick Carisi, Jr., son of an underboss for the Bonanno family. This is Sonny Carisi, a man who has decided he has to go against his family for reasons Rafael still doesn't know. He wants to ask, but there's a dangerous curl of excitement in his belly that stops him. 

"What do you bench?" he asks instead, stepping to one side of the bench to help switch out the weights. 

*

After his workout, as he stands under the shower, Rafael squeezes his half-hard dick and doesn't try to pretend like he's not picturing Sonny Carisi's ass in those tiny shorts. He dreams up an absolutely stupid scenario of straddling Sonny while he's on the weight bench and jerking them off on one hand. He'd cover Sonny in jizz, then drag a finger through it and lick it clean. Sonny's face would flash would interest, and Rafael would slide his finger in the mess again and--

Rafael comes with a low whine, picturing Sonny's lips tight around his finger. He leans against the wall of the shower and pumps himself a few more times before holding out his hand to rinse it off. He takes a deep breath and steps back under the spray. This isn't the first time he's been attracted to someone he needs to be professional with. He knows he can walk into the room at the FBI building and talk to Sonny without slipping up or showing anything. 

He shaves and gets dressed, then checks himself over in the mirror. He looks put together and sophisticated, every inch the ADA who's here to gather evidence and evaluate exactly what Sonny Carisi is worth to the state and city of New York. 

There's an actual restaurant in the hotel lobby. Rafael orders a coffee and a breakfast sandwich, then grabs a copy of _The Times_ from the newspaper options. He catches a couple of people looking at him, but he doesn't look back. He sits and browses the paper, looking for any sign that news of Sonny's defection has broken. There's nothing in the paper, but that doesn't mean the family isn't already trying to find him. 

A server drops off Rafael's coffee and sandwich, and he eats as he reads the Arts section. The sandwich and the coffee are better than he's used to for a hotel restaurant, and he remembers Agent DeVoe remarking about Portland's love of coffee. 

There's a sudden bustle of activity, and Rafael looks up. Sonny Carisi is walking into the restaurant. The Agent who'd been outside the gym is next to him, and Rafael spots a second agent sitting near the door. Sonny looks around, the warm humor from earlier entirely gone from his face. He looks intent and determined, and Rafael can't help but stare for a moment. 

Sonny sits a few tables down from Rafael while the Agent orders their breakfasts. He makes eye contact and gives Rafael a quicksilver smile that lights up his eyes for an instant. Rafael finds himself returning the smile. Sonny looks away first, fingers tapping silently on the table. 

Rafael drains the rest of his coffee and stands. He grabs his briefcase and leaves the restaurant, walking by the Agent from the gym without saying hello. He stops at the front desk to make sure he's going the right direction to catch the train, and then he's outside in the cool morning air. 

It's oddly quiet compared to the noise Rafael is used to. He can hear cars on the highway and see the train station, but there's no sense of urgency when Rafael steps on the platform and checks the arrival time. The people around him are dressed in business clothes, but they're much more casual than anything Rafael wears to the office. He keeps up with West Coast fashion, so he's not surprised that no one's in a full suit, but it's still a bit jarring to be waiting for the train in the morning and be the only person wearing dress shoes. 

The train comes, and Rafael steps on. He gets off two stops later, half a block from the FBI building. He can't help but chuckle when he sees it. It's three stories and red brick. There are trees and greenspace around the parking lot. It looks like an elementary school.

He steps inside and gives his name, then signs in and helps himself to the coffee on the end of the counter. It's burned and bitter, so close to the coffee in the SVU squadroom that Rafael wishes he could mail it to Liv and demand to know why all cops make terrible coffee. 

Agents Devoe and Lester come out to greet him as he takes another sip. They're dressed similar to yesterday, and Rafael catches the surprise in Agent Lester's eyes at the sight of his suit. 

"Wow, that's a look," Agent Devoe says, grinning. "You don't do things halfway, do you, Mr. Barba?"

"No," he answers. 

"I respect that." Agent Devoe says. She waves Rafael towards the doors where she and Agent Lester had just emerged. "We've got a conference room set up for you. Nothing fancy, but it'll get the job done."

"We heard you already met Carisi," Agent Lester says. "Agent Byrne says you worked out together this morning." There's no censure in Lester's tone, but Rafael's tempted to roll his eyes anyway. 

"We're both jetlagged," he says. "I wasn't expecting him to be in the gym, but he made himself useful as a spotter."

"Agent Byrne said he heard laughter," Lester says, and there's a wicked grin on his face. "But I'm not actually sure he knows what laughter sounds like."

"He's a good agent," Devoe says as she opens the door to a small conference room, "but he's a classic FBI tight ass."

"Noted," Rafael replies. He sets his briefcase on the table and looks around the conference room. There's two file boxes on the table, and a coffee carafe and cups on top of a mini fridge that's set on a side table. 

"There's bottled water in the fridge," Devoe says, "and we also have a water refill station by the bathroom, which is down the hall to the right. You can see the creamer and sugar from here. Either Lester or I will come in for your lunch order."

"You're not sitting in?" Rafal asks.

"From what we've seen, Carisi doesn't have any information that proves the crimes are federal or that they crossed state lines, so for now, it'll just be the two of you," Devoe replies. 

"We'd like you to record everything," Lester says, and he opens a nearly invisible panel on the table to show Rafael a set of controls. "It's idiot-proof, as you can see. Press the big red button, and you're recording sound and video. Press the button that says stop, and you stop recording."

"Might as well start now," Rafael says, pressing the red button. "I saw Carisi and his detail walk into the hotel restaurant as I was finishing up. They're likely not very far behind us."

"Godspeed keeping him on topic," Lester says. "He was all over the place yesterday."

"He was fine," Devoe says, giving Lester a look that Rafael recognizes as the ones that sometimes go between Liv and Nick. It's an annoyed fondness that speaks of a friendship outside of work. "He's definitely chatty," she says to Rafael, "but I would be to if I was about to rat out my whole fucking family."

"I prefer chatty to reticent," Rafael replies. 

"We'll leave you to get settled. If you need us, just pick up the phone over there and press zero to reach the receptionist. Her name's Claudia. She can page us if you need us."

"Thank you," Rafael says. He opens his briefcase as they leave and lays out a legal pad and two pens. He also takes out his personal digital recorder and lays it on the table. He's sure the FBI's equipment is fine, but he wants his own record as well. He does not pull out Sonny's file. The two boxes of files will tell him more than the brief possibly can. It's better to wait and go through them as they talk. 

Sonny walks in five minutes later, Agent Byrne on his heels looking annoyed.

"You lost one," Rafael greets, then realizes Sonny's holding two cups of coffee from the hotel restaurant.

"Huh?" Sonny says, setting one of the cups next to Rafael's legal pad. 

"There were two agents on you when I saw you at the restaurant."

"Oh, that," Sonny replies, then rounds the table to sit across from Rafael. "Yeah. If I'm going into a secure area like the gym, they only require one of the guys be with me so the other can stay by the room. But for meals, we all tend to go together."

"The conversation must be fascinating," Rafael deadpans. 

Sonny grins. "Oh, yeah, lots of opinions getting shared."

Rafael turns towards the door and raises an eyebrow at Agent Byrne, who is still standing in the doorway and looking annoyed. "Are you skulking for any particular reason?" Rafael asks.

Agent Byrne's annoyed look goes up a notch. "Just making sure he stays put."

"He says I walk too fast," Sonny says. 

"You're a New Yorker," Rafael replies. 

Sonny waves a hand at Rafael, but he's looking at Byrne. "See? He gets it."

Byrne huffs and turns his back, kicking the doorstop up as he goes. It closes in a slow hiss of air as Rafael sits and picks up his pen.

"We're already recording, by the way," Rafael says. 

"Sure," Sonny replies with a shrug. There's nervousness in his posture now, even though he was relaxed less than a minute ago. 

Rafael doesn't try to reassure him as he sets up his own recorder and uncaps his pen. He looks up when he's ready to start and sees that Sonny's staring down at his own hands. They're shaking. "I'm not going to hardball you right away," he says. 

Sonny looks up, his hands balling into fists. "I know I'm doing the right thing, but at the same time…" He takes a few deep breaths, then looks at Rafael. The determination Rafael had seen in the restaurant in back in Sonny's eyes. "Coercion to prostitution," he says. 

"I understand that's why I'm here," Rafael replies. 

"My family's done a lot of shitty stuff. I'm not going to pretend like I didn't know. But it was the usual stuff. Bookmaking. Money laundering. Narcotics. The Carisis can trace our ties to the Family way way back. My dad's the third generation _in the states_ to get made, but my great-grandpa came over specifically to help run things here."

Rafael does some quick math. "That'd be, what? The 1920s?"

"Yeah. He got put on a boat to help the Castellammarese clan during Schiro's later years." Sonny pauses. "How much history do you already know?"

"Very little," Rafael replies. "And what little I know is from the Bronx about thirty years ago."

Sonny's grin is quick but genuine. "Gambino family," he says. "We split some of Staten Island with them. My uncle wanted me to marry one of the daughters--strengthen the bond, you know?"

"But you didn't," Rafael says. He's starting to see what Lester meant about Sonny being all over the place. A marriage that didn't happen isn't useful to the investigation, but Rafael's also worked with a lot of survivors. He recognizes the way Sonny's taking a wide berth around the topic he's there to discuss. He wants to help. He wants to do what's right. But to do it, he has to face the terrifying truth that he's going to bring harm to his family. He has to face some hard truths about what it means for his own life. If giving Rafael a history lesson is what he needs to get started, Rafael's fine to listen. 

"No, we didn't marry," Sonny says. "We dated for awhile, but then…" He takes another deep breath. "I got caught with someone else in the back of a car," he says. He licks his lips. "A guy."

"Ah," Rafael says quietly.

"I'm bi," Sonny continues. "Not that it matters for any of this. Just that...there's a lot of reasons I'm burning this bridge, and they're not all about right and wrong in terms of everything my family's been a part of."

Rafael doesn't comment. The anti-queer history of the mob is something he knows entirely too intimately, but he's not willing to have that conversation on the record. "Why is this the bridge you're burning?" Rafael asks. "You just admitted you knew other crimes were being committed. Why coercion to prostitution? It's not like the mob's only just started working the prostitution angle."

"No, it's been part of things, too," Sonny says. He slides his hands along the sides of his head like he's checking for a hair out of place. "But the stuff I brought with me, the stuff I'm telling you about, it's all underage kids. Like, noticeably underage." 

Rafael can't speak for a moment as he realizes what Sonny's telling him. "You mean children."

"Yeah." Sonny looks past Rafael, and he doesn't seem to be seeing anything around him, just staring into the middle distance like he's caught in a memory. "Yeah, children."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is now my only WIP, so I'm hoping to update more regularly. I still consider it a rom com even with the subject matter because, well, SVU.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: This chapter goes into some detail about how the child abuse Sonny is revealing is done. There is nothing explicit in the conversation, and I think the information is roughly equal to what you'd get in an SVU episode, but I just wanted to be sure you have a heads up before you start reading.

"What's the age range?" Rafael asks softly.

Sonny glances at the file boxes. "The youngest kid I've found is three."

"Shit," Rafael mutters. 

Sonny blinks and looks at him. "You sound surprised," he says. "The agents said you've worked sex crimes a long time. I wouldn't expect you to be surprised."

Rafael takes a long drink of his coffee. "There are some things that always stay shocking," he says.

Sonny nods, and Rafael watches something subtle change in his expression. He can't pinpoint exactly what it is, but he gets the sense Sonny is viewing him slightly differently now. He stands and walks over to the file box, sorting through the folders until he finds the one he wants. He holds it out to Rafael. "His name's Carson," he says. "Three years old. Bought from his mother."

"Bought?" Rafael asks, taking the file. He opens it. There's a photograph at the top of the page, showing a chubby-cheeked boy in a striped shirt and blue pants. He's leaning towards the camera, mouth open in a wide smile. 

"His mother's a prostitute," Sonny says. "She didn't want to be pregnant, but they got her to carry to term by telling her they could put the baby up for adoption and give her a cut. They got her set up in a nice apartment with a healthy stipend, and she thinks the baby is with a good family now."

Rafael looks up from Carson's picture. "They took the baby from _birth_?"

Sonny pulls out three more folders and tosses them on the table with enough force that they nearly slide off the edge. "More than once. These are just the ones I've found."

Rafael looks back at Carson's file. He lifts the picture to look at the document underneath. It's a print-out of an Excel file. All of Carson's information is listed. Height, weight, eye color, hair color. There's a series of columns checking off toddler milestones. "Who's keeping this kid?" he asks. 

"He was sold a few weeks ago," Sonny says.

Rafael looks up in time to see Sonny cross himself. "They took the baby at birth and raised it for three years? Why?"

Sonny's hands clench into fists. He takes a shaky breath and sits down hard. "Don't make me say it," he says. He unclenches his fists, and drags them through his hair, tugging at the ends hard. "Why would people interested in selling children take a child at birth and keep it for three years? Think about it."

The realization hits Rafael low in the gut. "Training."

Sonny pushes out a loud breath. "Yeah."

Rafael looks at the three other folders on the table, then at the two file boxes. "How many of those files tell this same story?"

"All of them," Sonny says. It's almost a whisper. He reaches for the three files he'd thrown down and opens them, turning them so Rafael can see the photo. "This is Jessica. That's Toby. And that's Marie. They're all four. All of them born to prostitutes who work for the Family, and all of them supposedly adopted into good homes."

Rafael lays down Carson's file and looks at his notes, wondering what the hell to write. "How did you find out about this?" he asks. "You're not made. This isn't a level of detail they'd allow you, even with your family history. And even if you were interested in being a gangster, they wouldn't make you because you're bisexual."

Sonny gives Rafael a considering look. "You say that with the authority of someone who tried to get made."

"Not me," Rafael says. "You and I both know the rules on that. Nothing less than 100% pure Italian, and I'm 100% pure Cuban." 

Sonny narrows his eyes. "The Bronx thirty years ago," he says quietly. 

"Not the conversation we're having right now," Rafael replies. 

"You know someone who got made," Sonny continues like Rafael hasn't said anything. "A family friend, probably." He tilts his head, his gaze going laser-focused. "Thirty years ago you were, what? Ten? Twelve?"

"We're not talking about this right now," Rafael says, but he can tell by the way Sonny's looking at him that Sonny's not going to drop it. He clenches his jaw and gives Sonny a hard look. "My history with the mob isn't why we're here."

Sonny leans back in his chair. "No, it's not," he agrees.

Rafael lets silence settle into the room. After a few seconds, Sonny nods, just barely. He's stowing his questions for now. But Rafael has no doubt they'll circle back. "Tell me how you found out about these kids," he says. "And why these," he gestures to the four files on the table, "are the ones you talked about first."

Sonny takes a slow, deep breath and leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him. He stares at the files, then takes another slow, deep breath. "I'm damn near the only Carisi who isn't made or working for the Family," he says. "My sister, Gina, this is what she does for them." He looks up and meets Rafael's eyes. "I didn't know what she was doing until about a year ago. I happened to be at my parents' place when Gina came in. I was under the kitchen sink checking on a pipe, so she didn't see me right away. She was on her phone, and I heard her quoting prices. She said Jessica on her own would be more expensive because she's a redhead, so she's more valuable, but if they wanted three children, they could cut a deal on the other two."

"By the other two, you mean Toby and Marie."

"Yeah." Sonny looks away, staring into the middle distance again. "That's when Gina saw I was in the kitchen."

Rafael watches the way his jaw twitches. "She didn't tell you the truth."

"No, she didn't." Sonny pulls the files towards him and looks at all the photos. "She weaved in some truth, though. She said the babies came from prostitutes, which is true. She said that she was specifically filling the need for people who wanted slightly older kids. Kids who were already potty-trained and could talk at least a little bit."

"How did you find out the truth?"

Sonny takes Carson's photo out of the file and touches it softly. "Gina called me about six weeks ago and asked if I could watch him for a couple of days. Said she needed to meet with the family who was adopting him and make sure they were prepared. The person who'd been taking care of him had had to go on a trip, and she was short-handed."

Sonny puts the photo down on the table and drops his head into his hands. "I'd just gotten a new camera, and I was unpacking it after I picked up Carson. He saw it and got real excited. Staring saying 'picture time' over and over."

Rafael fights the urge to tell Sonny to stop. He can see exactly where this is going, and he doesn't want to hear it, but it's not a choice he actually gets to make. They'll need the evidence. 

"I told him we could take pictures, and he jumped up on the couch and…" Sonny swallows hard. "He just tossed his clothes off. I thought he was being a toddler, you know? Just goofing. But then...the posing. It wasn't. It wasn't something a toddler would do instinctively."

Rafael nods slowly. "Okay," he says when he realizes Sonny's not going to elaborate. "What did you do then?"

"I called Gina and asked her what the fuck was going on," Sonny says. He looks back at Rafael again, and there's fire in his eyes. "I asked her what the fuck was going on, and how did he know how to sit like that, and she said she'd talk to me when she got back to the city. I told her I'd call Dad and tell him and--"

"What did she say?" Rafael prompts, hyper aware that they're recording and he doesn't want to seem to be leading Sonny into answers. 

Sonny blinks fast, but tears still slip down his face. "She said he knew. She said he handled the payments up the food chain when the kids were sold. She said if I didn't want to find out if I was worth anything to him by getting mad about it to him, I should keep my mouth shut."

The absolute broken note in Sonny's voice makes Rafael reach for his digital recorder. "Let's take a break," he says, turning off the recorder, then pressing the stop button on the room device. "I need to make a few calls."


	5. Chapter 5

He calls Liv. "Talk to me about baby trafficking in Manhattan," he says when she answers. 

Liv is quiet for a moment, no doubt hearing the stress in Rafael's voice. "It's generally infants," she says. "People get their hands on a baby one way or another and sell them to people who want kids but can't get them through legitimate adoption. For the most part, at least."

"For the most part?"

"There's a subset of trafficking that's a bit murkier. Kids who get handed off to relatives, who hand them off to friends, who hand them off to friends of friends. It's usually not done maliciously, and it happens a lot with troubled kids. They burn through a caregiver's patience and get sent to the next person who wants to try and help."

"Okay," Rafael says. He takes another deep breath and looks at the shrubbery in front of the building. The hedges are square on top and taper towards the bottom, each of them neatly pruned. Birds are flitting under the hedges, and Rafael watches them peck at the ground. 

"Rafa," Liv says carefully, "what's happened?"

"Coercion to prostitution. Child trafficking. Promotion and likely possession of child pornography. As many abuse charges I can possibly tack on," he says. "The Carisi family is buying babies from prostitutes, raising them to toddler age, then selling them to the highest bidder for sexual use. They take them as infants and train them their whole lives." Rafael swallows hard, his rage wanting to spring to the surface, but he needs to hold it back. If he lets it loose, he fears he'll tear those perfect hedges limb from limb. "Carisi's older sister is the one in charge of it."

"Fuck," Liv says. There's a pause that Rafael hates because it's so rare for Liv to need recovery time from horrible news. "Fuck," she says again. "What can the squad do?"

Rafael closes his eyes, feeling relief and gratitude and love for the absolute steel in Liv's voice. It's what he needs--to know he's not fighting this alone. To know that someone else is ready to step up and help. "See what you can find on Gina Carisi. Be careful, though. We don't want to take the chance of tipping off anyone about where the wayward Carisi son is."

"Why not ask him?"

Rafael thinks of the way Sonny's voice had broken talking about Carson. "I don't think that's information I can get easily right now. He's…"

"I hear you," Liv says quietly. "I can call a friend of a friend, get the search done over in Fraud or Street Crime. The Families rarely care if their names get searched over there, so if they have anyone tracking that sort of thing, it shouldn't hit their radar."

"Thanks, Liv," Rafael says. He wishes he had better words to explain how much she's just helped him. "Thanks," he says again. 

"You okay?" she asks. "You don't usually pick up a case at this point. Sounds like your guy might be a little raw."

"I don't think the Feds fully understand what he has," Rafael says. "They haven't mentioned it, at least, and even for them, this kind of trafficking still has to be rare. I can't believe they'd be joking about how chatty he is if they'd heard what I just did."

"Maybe he kept it vague on purpose," Liv replies. "Maybe he feels like he can only say it once. It's not uncommon for victims of trauma to wait until they're talking to a person who can really help before they tell everything."

"Maybe," Rafael agrees. "I wish you were here," he says, the words falling out of his mouth without warning. "This is much more your forte than mine."

"You have a good heart, Rafa. And you believe in justice. I'm sure you're doing fine."

"He…" Rafael presses his lips together, not sure what he wants to say. "I'll see about getting some files sent to you," he says instead of anything more about Sonny. "Maybe you can track down some of the mothers and see if anyone will talk."

"I'll warn the squad," she says. "Don't forget to take care of yourself, Rafael."

"Do my best," he replies. "Thanks, Liv."

"You're welcome."

Rafael waits for her to end the call before he takes the phone away from his ear. He takes a few more deep breaths, then turns and presses the buzzer to get let back into the building. "Where's Devoe's desk?" he asks Claudia.

"About halfway down the room," Claudia says, pointing towards the bullpen. "I can walk you over."

"I'll find her. Thank you." Rafael opens the door into the bullpen and steps to one side to survey the room. 

It's quietly busy, agents working on computers or talking to each other. A few are on the phone, and a couple of the desks are empty. Rafael walks slowly to the middle of the room, scanning each desk for Devoe. He finds her at her desk, which is almost exactly dead center. She's on her computer, frowning as she types. She looks up when Rafael stops in front of her desk. 

"You can't be done already," she says. 

"Not even close, I don't think," Rafael replies. "Just had a few questions."

"Sure." Devoe turns her desk chair to face him. "What's up?"

"What evidence did you get from Carisi that made you call my office?"

"The files he has in the conference room. There are bank statements that correspond to when the health tracking on the kids ends. The day before a kid stops getting tracked, money goes into the account."

"Did you look at the health records in depth?"

"Just the dates they ended," Devoe says. "Why?"

Rafael pauses before he explains. Something's not right. "Just making sure I know what's going on," he says. "What level of detail did you get from Carisi?"

"Not a whole lot. We were mostly just assessing where jurisdiction was going to lie."

"And you decided it was a city-level problem."

"Yes."

"Even though the kids were taken from their parents under false pretenses, thereby making these cases kidnappings?" 

Devoe doesn't look away from Rafael, but she blinks quickly. "Those women willingly gave up their children in exchange for money."

"Did you find proof in those files that they legally signed away their parental rights or that they weren't coerced in some other way? Like, say, threats from a powerful mob family?"

Devoe blinks quickly again. "Like I said, we didn't get a chance to dig that far."

Rafael stares her down for a long moment. "You didn't get that far, or you stopped before you could?"

"I don't like your tone, Mr. Barba."

"Proof of money changing hands through banks should have automatically made this a federal case," Rafael says. "So, either you don't have a basic grasp of what is and isn't federal law, or you knowingly decided not to pursue this case at a federal level because someone around here doesn't like the optics of it."

Devoe stands up fast, her desk chair tipping backwards from the force. "Are you standing here accusing the Bureau of tossing this case to you because we didn't like it enough?"

Rafael feels every person in the room turn to look at him. He doesn't break eye contact with Devoe. "The Feds refusing to take on the mob only happens for two reasons. Either someone doesn't like the way the case is gonna play in the press, or you're dirty."

"You son of a--" someone says off to the side. 

"Wasn't talking to you," Rafael replies, still not looking away from Devoe. She's red-faced and absolutely shaking with anger. "So, tell me, Agent. Which is it? Dirty feds or someone decided sex workers weren't worth a federal investigation?"

"How dare you accuse any of us of being dirty. Do you--"

"Well, that answers that question," Rafael interrupts her. "Sex workers being taken advantage of just isn't something the feds want to touch, huh? Or did you even let Mr. Carisi explain how the workers were lied to about where their children were going?"

"We looked at the relevant evidence and made a call," Devoe says. 

"Bullshit."

Rafael does look away from Devoe at that. Sonny's standing just inside the doorway of the bullpen, face a mask of blazing agony as he stares at Devoe. There's a rosary swinging from his right hand, Rafael notes absently. "Tell me, Mr. Carisi," Rafael says, refusing to give up the spotlight as long as he has it. "Did you tell Agent Devoe about the story your sister spun to the sex workers she lied to?"

"I did," Sonny says. "Her and Agent Lester both."

"Were they recording you when that happened?"

"Not that they told me," Sonny replies. He glances from Devoe to somewhere behind her. Rafael is certain he's found Agent Lester, but he doesn't turn to look. "They also didn't tell me they were giving up jurisdiction to the city. The way they talked about it, you were coming in to assist, not take the case."

"Seems there's been a miscommunication," Rafael says to Devoe. "Plus a possible attempt to flat-out lie."

Devoe stares at him in furious silence. Rafael takes a quick scan of the room and notes that Agent Lester and Agent Byrne have the same sort of silence. Everyone else seems caught between being surprised or a less personal kind of angry. They're professionally insulted, Rafael thinks as he pulls his phone from his jacket. But they don't have a horse in this race. 

"Congratulations, Agent Devoe. You've shat on any good will I had for you and guaranteed I will _not_ be giving any accolades to the Bureau for their assistance. If you'll excuse me, I'll be taking my material witness and all his files out of your hands."

"You can't--"

Rafael puts his phone to his ear and walks towards Sonny. "Mr. Carisi, let's go get your evidence."

"Mr. McCoy's office," says a voice on the other end of the line. 

"Mitchell, it's Rafael Barba. I need to speak with Jack immediately."

"He's in a meeting with the Deputy Chief, Mr. Barba."

"Which one?"

"Chief Dodds, Sir."

Rafael has never been happier to hear that man's name in his life. "Interrupt it, please. I'm sure the Chief wants to hear this as well."

Rafael opens the door to the conference room and gestures Sonny inside. "Can you pick up both of those boxes?" he asks, gesturing to the file boxes. 

"Yeah," Sonny says. He starts to round the table, then stops and turns back. 

"What--" Rafael asks, then cuts off when he sees Sonny flip the cover for the recording buttons on the table. He watches in silence as Sonny plucks a paper clip from the middle of the table, then straightens it and jams it somewhere. There's a quiet _pop_, and Sonny casually tosses something plastic onto the table. 

"Barba, what the hell? You haven't even been in Portland twenty-four hours."

"Jack. Put me on speaker."

"You're already on speaker," Chief Dodds says. 

"I'm going to need one or both of you to call the Feds here and yell at them until Mr. Carisi and I are allowed to leave with the evidence he's providing. He's got bank records. This should have been a federal case from the get-go, but they didn't want it. And then they lied to him about it. I want their access cut, and I want it cut now."

There's a brief pause. Rafael lets it pass as he watches Sonny jam the paper clip somewhere else. The lights in the room dim for a moment. 

"What the hell, Barba?" Jack says. 

"No one's stopping us from leaving yet, but I don't trust it'll stay that way."

"Why would they give up jurisdiction?" Chief Dodds asks. "Jack was just briefing me. It seems like a perfect case for the feds to brag on."

"Chief, I can point out the use of sex workers as a baby farm, but it'd be easier to ask you to call Benson after you've called the office here."

"Optics," Chief Dodds says, and Rafael's surprised to hear that it sounds like a bad word from him. That's a first. "I'll call."

"I'll need a different hotel, Jack," Rafael says. 

"We need a different city," Sonny replies. "Someone in this office is dirty."

"Hold on," Rafael says, then puts his phone to his shoulder. "What?"

"I know you said it to goad them, but I've been here two days and treated like the feds are keeping me safe because they want my testimony," Sonny says as he yanks his hand counterclockwise. The lights dim again. "But they called you in to take this case pretty much as soon as they knew what I had." Sonny yanks something from the table and shoves it in his pocket. He jams the paper clip into something, and this time, the lights short out completely for a second. Sonny looks at Rafael as the lights blink back on. "They were keeping me warm for someone to come and fetch me."

Rafael glances at the file boxes. "Where's the flash drive that those files came on?"

"They have it somewhere, but it won't work again," Sonny says. He looks grimly pleased for a moment. "I'm not made or in the family business, Mr. Barba, but I learned a few things from my family."

Rafael puts his phone back to his ear. Both Jack and Chief Dodds are saying his name and cursing. "I'm back. Mr. Carisi informs me there are likely mob-affiliated agents in the building. So, the sooner we can move hotels, the better."

"Are you fucking kidding me," Chief Dodds says at the same time Jack sighs loudly. 

"We'll be safe at the hotel for a little bit," Sonny says to Rafael. "Long enough to grab your stuff, anyway."

Rafael considers what's in his luggage. He hadn't packed any favorites, and he rarely takes anything with sentimental value. "We're getting on the train," Rafael says. Sonny nods to show he agrees. "Call me when you have a place for us to stay."

"You are the largest pain in the ass," Jack says. 

"Call me if you need me," Rafael replies and ends the call. He watches Sonny heft the boxes into his arms and grabs his briefcase from the table before taking one of the boxes.

"They're going to let us out of here," Sonny says quietly as he shifts the box to reach for the conference room door. "If they don't and we turn up dead somewhere, it'll cause too many questions. Let them put up a token protest, then we'll get on the train like we're going back to the hotel."

Rafael watches Sonny grab the door handle. His hand is steady. His face is calm. Rafael trusts him in a way he rarely trusts anyone. But, he supposes, that's what happens when you're suddenly thrown into a pile of trouble with someone. "I assume you'll fill me in as we go."

"I've got you," Sonny says, and he meets Rafael's eyes. "You don't deserve to be in the middle of this."

"Neither do you," Rafael replies without thinking. 

Sonny doesn't answer, just opens the door and leads the way to the front door. 

Agents Devoe and Lester are waiting. "There's been a miscommunication," Agent Devoe starts. "I think it's a good idea for all of us to cool down--"

"I don't need to cool down," Rafael replies. "I need to take my witness and get out of this building before I decide I'd rather start calling in favors to start an investigation."

"Oh, come on," Agent Lester says. "You're being dramatic."

"I am," Rafael agrees, making sure to be extra showy with his shrug. "But I'm also being honest. I know you think you're the top dog as Feds, but that doesn't mean you get to take free kicks at the New York City District Attorney's office. Now, if you want to talk when you cool off, you know where I'm staying."

Agents Devoe and Lester watch them leave in a hard silence that Rafael can practically feel ice over. He and Sonny walk in silence to the train stop and don't look at each other until they're seated on the train headed to the airport. 

"What's next?" Rafael asks. 

Sonny glances at the destination sign. "We go straight to the airport and buy tickets." He takes his phone from his shirt pocket and hands it to Rafael. "Put in whatever numbers you need."

Rafael doesn't bother asking if the phone's a burner. It's so new Sonny hasn't taken the film off the screen. "Bought yourself a little something on your layover out here, did you?"

"Yup," Sonny replies as the train slows for the next stop. No one steps on. "I'll need your phone when we get to the airport."

"Going to tie it to the wing of a plane with some dental floss?"'

Sonny snorts. "Nah. Just gonna find some soccer mom with a tote bag and let your phone have an adventure."

Rafael looks up. Sonny's smiling to himself, just a little. "You're kidding."

"Like I said, Counselor, I've learned a few things over the years."

"So, they're going to track my phone and tell your family where I am."

"It's a guess, but yeah, I think so. As long as the phone's at the airport, they won't see a reason to think otherwise."

"Really?"

Sonny shrugs. "The smart money's on the fact my family's known I defected from the moment I walked into that field office. You made a memorable scene that I wasn't planning, but it'll play into my family's expectations."

"Which are?"

Sonny stands as the train pulls into the airport. "I'm not the brightest bulb in the room," Sonny replies. 

Rafael can't help but stare in surprise. He's holding a box of evidence that says otherwise, and there's a second box to match it. Sonny had also done something in the conference room that Rafael is fairly certain has wiped the recording of their conversation. And he is now taking the lead to get them safe. "If you're the dimmest bulb in the family, I genuinely fear for my life," he says.

Sonny chuckles, but there's no real humor in it. "Well, don't let me stop you," he says, and they step off the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...now it's a thriller??? I guess???


	6. Chapter 6

Rafael keeps pace with Sonny as they walk into the airport. Sonny pauses at the far end of the long line of airline desks. Rafael looks at the way his jaw is set and holds off on questions. 

"How'd you fly in?" Sonny asks. "Which airline? Who booked your flight?"

"American," Rafael answers. "And the DA's office has a travel liaison who handles things."

"Okay." Sonny shifts his box so it's under one arm and leads the way to the large screen flashing departure times. "I have a couple of credit cards I can use, but it'd be better if you have one you can book two tickets on. One-way. Economy."

"Back to New York?" Rafael guesses, though it's just barely a guess.

"Yeah."

"I can manage," he says. "What are we actually doing?"

"I'll tell you as we go," Sonny replies, still reading the board. "We need something that's leaving at least two hours out from now."

"Why?"

"Cover story," Sonny says.

Rafael stares at him for a moment, stunned by the casual way he says it. "Do you do this a lot?" he asks, his tone more biting than he means.

Sonny flashes him a quick grin and a side-eye that has a touch of humor. "I don't normally run from the federal government, no," he says. "But I've had...plans...for awhile."

Rafael doesn't need to ask why. It's written in the way Sonny's shoulders tighten and the hard slash of his mouth as he presses his lips together so hard they turn white. "I know something about plans," he says. Sonny cuts him another look. The humor is off his face this time. "Lead the way," Rafael says, pushing confidence to the front of his tone. Sonny's competence so far tells him everything he needs to know. There's a plan forming. It may be tied together on the fly, but it won't be a mess.

Sonny taps a flight number that's two-thirds of the way down the list on the screen. "That one. They'll tell you it's full. Ask for the flight after."

"How do you know it's full?"

"Midday flight during the week, the flights are cheaper. The flight's gonna be full of tourists and school groups."

"Why don't we just ask for the flight that's likely to have spots?"

"Because we're laying a cover story that says we don't think the feds are dirty."

Rafael's breath stutters, and he nearly drops his briefcase. "Shit."

"You okay?" Sonny asks, his no-nonsense tone suddenly laced with concern. "You need to sit down?"

"No, it's fine. I just." Rafael feels the buzz of adrenaline slam through his body, his hands shaking and his legs feeling cold. "My flight or fight just kicked in, and it's been...awhile." He looks at Sonny, expecting a smart remark or an amused look, but Sonny just looks sympathetic. 

"Yeah, that sounds familiar," he says quietly. He takes a slow, deep breath, and Rafael breathes with him. "Come on," he says quietly. "You can do this."

Rafael doesn't feel certain, but he does straighten his shoulders and lead the way to the American Airlines desk. He does as Sonny had suggested, requesting tickets for the flight he'd pointed out, then asking for tickets for the next flight. 

"It's four hours before that flight leaves," the desk attendant says as she checks for available tickets. "We'd be happy to hold those boxes for you for a small fee."

"Yeah," Sonny says before Rafael can even ask. "That sounds good. He puts the boxes on the floor and reaches for his wallet. "Can I pay for that separately in cash?"

"Sure," the attendant says. "Just let me finish with the tickets, first."

"Yeah, no problem," Sonny replies. 

"What's the name for the first ticket?" 

"Rafael Barba," Rafael says, then spells it out. 

"And the second ticket?"

"Lucky Marcone," Sonny answers before Rafeal can glance at him. He pulls out his wallet and puts an ID on the counter that matches the name he's just given. 

"Lucky," Rafael mutters, actually having to bite back a grin. 

"Not my first choice," Sonny mutters in return. The desk attendant is too busy getting their tickets printed and into their envelopes to pay them any attention. 

"Here are your tickets, gentlemen," she says, placing them on the counter. She points at the two file boxes. "Now, those," she says. "Do you want us to hold both of them?"

"Yes, please," Sonny answers. He pays in cash and takes the claim ticket the attendant gives him. "Let's get lunch," he says to Rafael like it's nothing. "I'm starving."

"Sure," Rafael replies. "I love a ninety-dollar sandwich."

"Interesting thing about this airport," Sonny says as they walk away from the desk and head towards the terminals. "There's no price-gouging here. If it costs five bucks outside the airport, it costs five bucks here."

"What?" Really?"

"Yeah, there's signs about it all over the place," Sonny replies. He points to a restaurant next to the security line. "How's that?"

"Works for me," Rafael says. The restaurant is mostly empty, save a couple of people sitting at the bar. The hostess seats them near the back of the room and promises their server will be with them momentarily.

"I'll cover lunch," Sonny says. "Get whatever you want."

"Thanks, Lucky," Rafael replies. 

Sonny snorts. "It's an old alias. I didn't pick it."

"One your family will know you'd use?" Rafael asks. 

Sonny nods and picks up the wine list. "Yeah." He waves the menu at Rafael. "You wanna split a bottle? We got four hours."

"Are we actually getting on the plane?"

"No, but we're getting close." Sonny replies. "And I'll need your phone after we go through security."

"Right," Rafael says, pulling his phone from his pocket. He thumbs through his contacts, then opens his pictures. He double-checks that everything's fully synced, just to be sure he won't lose anything.

"Hey," Sonny says.

Rafael looks up and doesn't quite know what to do with the sympathetic and somewhat pained look on the man's face. Before he can say anything, the server comes over. Sonny orders first, and Rafael picks something at random. The server promises to come back with the wine in a moment and leaves them alone. 

"I'm sorry I got you into this," Sonny says when they're alone again. 

Rafael's eyes jerk up from his phone again. "What?"

Sonny shrugs, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry I got you into this," he repeats. "I should have guessed there was something weird going on with the feds, but--" He cuts off when the server returns, the wine in one hand. 

They sit silently as the server opens the wine and pours a sample. Sonny sips it, clearly taking a moment to explore the flavors, then nods. The server pours them each a glass and leaves again. 

"You didn't get me into anything," Rafael says, swirling the wine in his glass and watching the legs dribble down the sides. "I showed up to do my job because I trusted the feds, too."

"I should have seen it coming," Sonny says. "Should have prepared for it, at least. Had a back-up plan."

Rafael gives him an incredulous look. "You cannot be serious."

"You don't--"

"Stop," Rafael says, holding up a hand. He's glad to see Sonny press his mouth closed. He takes a drink of his wine to gather his thoughts and tries to figure out what Liv would say if she were here. "Neither of us are in this situation because of anything you did," he says slowly. Sonny opens his mouth, but closes it again when Rafael points a warning finger at him. "We are in this situation because of your family. Not because you came forward with enough information to prosecute but because they committed a series of crimes."

"I should have--"

"No," Rafael cuts him off, putting as much steel in his voice as he can. "You come from a completely fucked-up background, Sonny. The fact that you can even look at what your family was doing to these children and decide you had to do something to stop it speaks volumes about who you are as a person. Think of the people in your family who are _actively involved_ in hurting these children and their mothers. They've spent years ruining lives and have no compunction to stop or even modify their behavior. 

"Your entire life has trained you to be dishonest, harmful, and only loyal to blood, but you threw all of that away the instant you realized children were being harmed. If you can't look at that and see the type of person you are, you need to get a new mirror."

Sonny blinks away tears. "But. I knew about so much other stuff before now. Why…"

Rafael takes a deep breath and sees Sonny unconsciously copy him. "When you're in a bad situation every single day, it becomes normal. For good or for ill, you draw a square around the boundaries defined by the adults who are supposed to care for you and call it safety. Sometimes, you live in that square for a long time before you suddenly realize everyone you know drew circles. Sometimes, you know the square isn't actually safe, but to turn it into a triangle may cause something worse. Sometimes, you're so surrounded by other people in squares that you can't see other shapes. Whatever happens after you draw that square, you drew it because the adults who were teaching you how to be a person taught you to draw that square. It's not your fault you drew a square. It's their fault for teaching you that square was safe."

Sonny stares at Rafael, and Rafael wonders what he sees. He'd heard his voice get more forceful at the end of his impromptu speech, and he can't say for certain exactly what his face is giving away in this moment. 

"So," Sonny says quietly, and there's something bright in his eyes, "how'd you end up with a square around yourself?"

Rafael swallows hard. "I don't--" He cuts himself off. Sonny doesn't do anything but wait, looking patient and interested. The brightness in his eyes makes something in Rafael's chest loosen. There's something so honest about it. It seems ridiculous to trust Dominick Carisi, Jr., son of an underboss, with anything about himself. But Sonny? A man who saw something wrong outside of his expected parameters and focused on fixing it? Who threw his whole life away to take a chance to save kids? Who is sitting here, now, with Rafael in this airport restaurant as they work together to save their skins? 

Rafael stretches his hands and meets Sonny's gaze squarely. "My father," he says. "A run of the mill abusive drunk married to a woman who couldn't quite stop loving him even though she was so far beyond him in every single way."

Sonny smiles a little. It's wistful. "Are you close to your mother?"

"I try to be," Rafael replies. "It's difficult. Not because of her decisions regarding my father. I've made my peace with that."

"Too similar or too different?" Sonny asks. 

Rafael huffs a small laugh. "Both?"

Sonny's smile widens for a moment, then slips off his face. He swirls the wine in his glass and watches it move. "I thought I was close with my ma, but I don't know now. I don't know how much she knows about what Gina's doing, and…" He sighs and looks at Rafael again. There's a look of utter loss on his face. "Fuck." He stares down at the table, and he shudders. 

"You don't have to ask," Rafael says quietly. "You can just keep the memories you have."

Sonny wipes the back of his hand across his eyes. There's a small sniffle. "I don't…" He lifts his head and stares over Rafael's head. "I have a baby sister. She's not that much younger than me, but she and I are closer in age than either of us are with Gina or Teresa."

"Bella," Rafael supplies.

"Yeah, right. It's in my file, I bet."

"It is."

Sonny nods slowly. "Bella. We're Irish twins. I don't remember life without her. We made each other crazy, but…"

"I'm an only child," Rafael says into the silence. "I don't know what that's like."

"We made each other crazy, but we always had each other's backs. Always. She fell for this guy, Tommy, he's kind of a loser, but he's not in the family."

"Define 'loser,'" Rafael says, the quiet emotion in Sonny's voice making him curious. 

"One of those guys who dealt weed in high school and keeps getting busted for minor possession. He did two years because he and a former roommate got into a fight, and the guy had the locks changed, so Tommy decided he could just pick the lock. Roommate got him arrested for B&E, and Tommy thought he could talk his way out of it with the jury."

"Ah," Rafael says. "So, he treats Bella fine but he's an idiot in every other part of his life."

Sonny's face breaks into a proper grin. "Yeah," he says. "That's a good description."

"I knew a few of those myself," Rafael says. He thinks briefly of Amanda Rollins. "I might still know one." Nick Amaro's last temper tantrum flashes into his mind. "Make that two."

"Tommy's got a good heart," Sonny continues. "He really does. I know he'll keep Bella safe no matter what, but that doesn't make it easier to miss her, I guess."

"Are you worried your family will use her against you?"

Sonny chuckles. "Nah. Bella's never taken shit. Even if Dad or Ma try to put the screws to her, she'll tell them to kiss her ass." He sips his wine and licks the corner of his mouth. "I worry she'll hate me, though."

"For turning state's evidence?"

"For not leaving sooner. And for not telling her that I was gonna. But...I couldn't tell her. I couldn't put her in a position to know anything. Just in case, you know?"

"I don't," Rafael says and feels a small smile tweak one corner of his mouth, "But I think she'll forgive you after she kicks your ass."

The grin breaks across Sonny's face again. "Well, here's hoping," he says. 

They fall into silence, sipping their wine and simply sitting quietly until their food comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long delay between chapters. Shit's gotten WEIRD, as I know we all know. But still. What the fuck. Stay safe. Wash your hands. Read all those fics you've had open for a long time.


	7. Chapter 7

They eat their first few bites without speaking. It's only after the server comes back to check on their meal then leaves again that Sonny wipes his mouth with his napkin and gives Rafael a serious look. "We're gonna eat. We're gonna walk around the shops. You're gonna buy gifts for people if that's something you do when you travel."

"It is," Rafael replies. He has to grip his fork tightly for a moment, feeling a sort of shuddering tick throughout his body as his adrenaline spikes. 

"It's gonna be okay," Sonny says, one hand reaching out towards Rafael. He doesn't make contact, but just the gesture makes something in Rafael relax. 

"Okay," Rafael says, taking a deep breath then a long drink of water. "So, I'll buy a few things. We'll be past security. What about after that?"

"I'm going to pickpocket your phone, and I'll get it taken care of," Sonny says. "I don't want anyone to see me take it from you."

Rafael fights the urge to reach for his phone. "That makes sense," he says slowly. 

"As soon as we're out of the airport and safe, we'll find you one of your own," Sonny says. "I know a few tricks for finding one without going into a store."

Rafael presses his mouth closed and simply nods to show he understands. He does not want to know what sort of tricks Sonny has up his sleeve; it's clear without getting details that whatever Sonny is going to do will be illegal.

"We'll also need to get you some new clothes. Me, too, actually," Sonny says, glancing down at himself. "I probably look a little closer to whatever the Portland standard is, but you definitely stand out. This isn't a city that's really into suits."

"Their loss," Rafael replies. 

Sonny chuckles. "Yeah, it is," he agrees, giving Rafael a quick, friendly once-over. "But I promise I'm not gonna make you wear anything you're not comfortable with. Give me some ideas, and I'll get you set up."

"The same way you're getting me a new phone?" Rafael asks. He can't help it. He doesn't need to know the details, but a sense of exactly how many laws they'll break would be nice.

"Nah, clothes are way easier. We stay at a nice enough hotel, someone will send out a concierge, and we'll charge it to the room."

"The state of New York is not going to reimburse you for a new wardrobe," Rafael says, and he can't believe he's smiling, but Sonny's so casual about this whole plan, and it's making everything feel possible. 

"Don't worry. I can cover it," Sonny says. "Just promise not to ask where the money came from."

"Tell me you didn't help launder it."

"I didn't," Sonny says, the easy tone of his voice sharpening immediately. "I know the money in my trust didn't come from anything honest, but I've been honest with it."'

"I believe you," Rafael says. He isn't surprised when Sonny cuts him a look that calls him a liar. "I shouldn't have joked about it. I'm sorry."

Sonny stares him down for another moment before dropping his eyes and poking at the remains of his meal. "I shouldn't have snapped. And I won't be accessing my trust fund directly. I've been moving money into a few different accounts for awhile. Although, when I say it like that, it sort of reinforces there's no reason to believe that I'm trustworthy. Just because I'm appalled by what I've found out doesn't mean I was a saint to begin with."

Rafael thinks that over, then crosses his silverware over his plate and places his plate to one side. "My father wanted to be a made man," he says, and the tone of his voice turns Sonny's gaze sharp. "He was Cuban, first-generation, and he looked it as well as sounded like it. Thirty years ago in the Bronx…"

"Tramunti was running things for the Luccheese family," Sonny says into Rafael's silence. "Your dad didn't really think he'd be the first non-Italian made in a family, did he?"

Rafael snorts as the memories roll through his mind. "Narcissists commonly have delusions of grandeur, and my father was determined to outdo them all." He takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair, meeting Sonny's gaze with a level stare. "They'd see his worth. He was sure of it. If he was the best associate the family had ever seen, they'd reward him with an offer to join the family."

Sonny shakes his head, clearly amazed. "I've heard of guys hoping, but actually thinking they'd get past the bloodline? That's...that's something else."

"Well, that was my father," Rafael replies. He looks down at his hands. "I have his hands," he says, holding them up for Sonny to see. "His shape, too. He was taller, but we were built the same. He thought it meant I'd be his double, his shadow. He used to take me with him when he collected on debts or picked up protection money. He wanted to show me the ropes so I could become his lieutenant when he was a made man."

Sonny shakes his head and looks at the table for a moment. "My dad did that, too," he says quietly. "I hated it."

"Me, too," Rafael says. "My father enjoyed being cruel to people. He'd taunt the people whose money he was there to take. He'd make women uncomfortable on the bus. He'd come home from a night of playing bodyguard and make my mother and me listen to stories about how he'd punched or shoved someone. Or how he'd gotten to drag someone in front of the boss so they could be scared into doing what they wanted."

"My dad liked to play nice. If you smile at people, they'll never see you coming. That's something he used to tell me when he dragged me along."

Rafael considers that. "This might be the first time I felt lucky my father didn't ever pretend to be more than a thug and a bully."

"You're welcome?" Sonny asks, his smile wry, but his eyes pleased, like he was grateful to be understood. 

Rafael matches his wry smile. "Long story short, after twenty years of being certain he'd get made, he pissed off the wrong _Capo_, and he got driven somewhere and never came back."

Sonny winces. "That's terrible."

"I didn't think so at the time," Rafael says. "I was just relieved. The most terrifying entity in the world--the reason I thought everyone must live in a square--he was gone, and I knew he wouldn't be back. It was liberating. I felt awful later, then angry at myself for feeling awful." Rafael meets Sonny's eyes again. They're clear, his expression open, like he's taken Rafael's point to heart already. 

"I know what it's like to grow up and be told over and over that your job is to be immoral and awful. He was a force of nature. When I was a kid, there wasn't a day I wasn't certain he could bring hell to Earth to punish us if he chose to. But even before he vanished, I came to the realization that I didn't want to be like him. I didn't want to harm people, not for money and not for fun. I didn't want my mother to fear me. I didn't want my grandmother to despise me. I wanted people to look at me with _actual_ respect."

"You're a good person because you chose to be," Sonny says. 

"That's my point, yes," Rafael replies. "I chose to be a good person. So did you. Given my own background, I can appreciate why you might be...testy to even hear a joke about not being a trustworthy person."

Sonny blinks quickly. The server comes over to drop off the check, and Sonny hurries to hand over cash. "Keep it," he says before the server can ask for change. 

The server thanks them both, tells them to have a good trip, and leaves them alone again. 

The quiet moment they'd been having is gone, but Rafael doesn't feel uneasy as they both stand and walk to the exit. Sonny leads them to the security line. There are only a half-dozen people in front of them, and they get through the body scanners in no time. 

"They've got a wine store on this side," Sonny says as he slips his shoes back on. "We could get a backpack at the luggage store and stock up."

"I've had worse times in an airport terminal," Rafael says. 

Sonny buys the backpack, and they spend some time looking through the various wines. They get a couple of reds and a couple of whites, and then they spend some time browsing the bookstore. Rafael has to fight the urge to pull out his phone and check the time every few minutes. Time feels simultaneously frozen and sped up, but he doesn't want to look nervous. 

They leave the bookstore with a couple of books each. Sonny checks the time on his phone and glances around, then points at a store selling souvenir T-shirts and hoodies. "Let's get a couple," he says. "We'll need them before we leave the airport."

"Why?" Rafael asks. 

"Trust me," Sonny replies as he leads the way to the store. 

Rafael wants to ask more questions but he bites them back. If Sonny says they need them, he isn't going to argue right now. He buys a dark green shirt with the outline of a sign saying _Portland Oregon Old Town_ and a reindeer on top. Most of the hoodies are the logo for University of Oregon with an obnoxious-looking duck on them. Rafael can't help but grimace at it when Sonny picks one and drapes it over his arm. 

"There," Sonny says, gesturing to the far corner of the store where there are other hoodies. "Looks like those aren't branded for the University."

Rafael considers the fact that Sonny had so easily picked up on his distaste as he walks over to examine his options. He finds a black hoodie with a series of sketches of all of the Portland bridges and grabs one a size larger than he needs. He wonders if Sonny's watching him closely for signs of stress. 

He doesn't ask. He walks back to Sonny--who has added two ballcaps to his planned purchases--and they get in line. They buy their souvenirs, and Sonny tucks them into the backpack as well. They get coffees from a kiosk and walk to their gate. Sonny chooses their seats. Their backs are to the windows, and they have a wide view of the entire terminal.

"What now?" Rafael asks. 

Sonny reaches into the backpack and hands Rafael one of the books he's just bought. "Now we make it look like we're waiting to leave. I'm going to get up in a bit and drop your phone somewhere. And right before they start boarding, we're both going to use the bathroom."

"Okay," Rafael replies. "And after that?"

"I'll tell you then," Sonny says.

"Why not now?"

"Because right now, we need to both look like we're focused on getting on the plane."

It's not the answer Rafael wants, but he's honestly not sure what that answer would be. He sighs and opens his book, taking a long drink of his coffee before he starts reading. For as nervous as he is, it's not hard to get engrossed in what he's reading. So much of his life has included a ridiculous amount of stress, and while what's happening right now is different in what's happening around him, the stress doesn't feel so different from other situations. Rafael feels his shoulders relax as he finishes the first chapter, and he hardly notices Sonny standing up and walking away after mumbling he needs to stretch his legs. He's halfway through chapter two when Sonny gets back, and it's only as Rafael shifts when Sonny sits again that he realizes his phone is gone. 

Rafael stares hard at the page he's been reading, the words blurring as his fear spikes again. "It went okay?" he asks quietly. He can't help looking up and scanning the crowd, almost expecting some classic-looking mobster to come bursting through the crowd to drag him away. It's a foolish idea, he knows, but that doesn't stop it from happening. 

"Another flight four gates down," Sonny says as he lifts his coffee cup. There's no tension in his body. He seems slightly bored, like most of the people at the gate. "They're going to New York, too, so your phone will make it."

Rafael makes a non-committal noise. He jumps slightly when Sonny touches his arm.

"It's okay," Sonny says, voice low. "Just keep doing what you're doing, and we can get out of here."

"Right," Rafael says. He closes his book and rests it on his knee. "They're going to watch all the security footage, aren't they?"

"I expect so," Sonny says. 

"They'll be able to track us, then." 

"To a certain extent, but that's what we want."

Rafael digests that. "Are you saying you could make us completely disappear if you wanted?"

"I don't know that I'm that good," Sonny says with a rueful chuckle, "but if I weren't deliberately trying to leave a path, yeah, I think I could minimize how often we show up on camera."

Rafael turns to look at Sonny. "Exactly how long have you been planning to escape?"

Sonny blinks in surprise, then leans back. "I don't know," he says, and he looks away from Rafael. "Sometimes, it feels like years and sometimes I think it's only been days."

Rafael thinks about his own plans to escape his father. "I was ten when I knew I was going to make a break for it," he says. 

Sonny looks at him again. "The first time I thought about it, I think I was about ten, too."

"Must be a lucky number," Rafael replies. The way the light slants in the window, half of Sonny's face is lit up with a halo. Rafael briefly thinks he looks like a painting. Rafael tosses the thought away and looks down at his book. "How much longer are we here?"

"We're boarding in forty-five minutes," Sonny says. "We'll go towards the bathrooms about ten minutes before."

"Okay." Rafael opens his book again. He takes a deep breath to settle the last of his nerves and tries to read again, but his eyes keep slipping to the clock on the wall at the gate across the concourse. Thirty-five minutes immediately starts to feel like forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. The world is on fire. I hope the new chapter lets you have a quiet moment of enjoyment as you navigate everything that's happening.
> 
> Thank you, M, for the beta and a fortifying friendship in this absolute disaster of a year.


	8. Chapter 8

"Let's go," Sonny says quietly exactly at the thirty-five minute mark. He stands and puts on the backpack. 

Rafael takes a deep breath, dog ears his book, and stands. He falls into step next to Sonny, and they walk into the bathroom. It's mostly empty. Sonny leads them down the long line of stalls to the last two and gestures for Rafael to step into one as he gets into the other. 

Rafael locks the door and looks at his book. He hears the zip of the backpack in the next stall and he suddenly realizes why they bought hoodies and ballcaps. "Here," he says, reaching over the stall, his book out. 

Sonny takes it. A moment later, the hoodie stamped with the bridges and a ballcap come over the wall. "Turn the hoodie inside out," Sonny says. "Beat up the hat a little. Work the brim and stomp on it so it doesn't look so new."

"Okay," Rafael replies. He takes off his suit jacket and tie, then his suspenders and his shirt. He hangs them all on the hook on the door, then turns the hoodie inside out and slips it on. Rafael squeezes the brim of the cap between his hands a few times, then unsnaps the back band so he can fit it to his head. Once it feels comfortable, he takes it off and drags his shoes over the tops and digs his heels into the brim and the cap itself. 

"Looking good," Sonny says, and Rafael looks over and realizes Sonny's working his cap as well. 

Rafael picks up the cap and forcibly refuses to think of exactly how dirty the floors are. He shakes the cap back and forth, then sets it on his head. He hears Sonny's stall open, and he gathers his clothes, draping them over one arm as he steps out of the stall.

Sonny's leaning against the wall, the backpack at his feet. He's turned his own hoodie inside out, and he's wearing his cap as well. Rafael hands over his clothes without saying anything. He expects Sonny to simply stuff them in the backpack and be done with them, but Sonny carefully folds everything and places it precisely before he zips the backpack and stands up. "You should wear it out," he says, gesturing to the backpack. "They'll be looking for me to be wearing it."

"Okay," Rafael says. He hefts the backpack by its top strap and slips it on, adjusting the straps so they fit snugly on his shoulders. "Why are our hoodies inside out?"

"I don't know how far down the security camera rabbit hole they'll go, but if they check the feed at the store where we bought them, they might see the designs, so they'll be looking for them. This way, we'll just look like we're wearing plain hoodies."

There's the sound of footsteps, and Sonny and Rafael both glance towards the bathroom entrance. A man walks into view and steps into the first stall, completely unconcerned about the two of them far back in the corner. 

"Next step," Sonny says as he steps over to the sinks and washes his hands, "is to wait for a flight to empty out. There should be one opening its doors right about now. When everyone comes in to go to the bathroom, we'll blend in and leave out the front door."

"What about the evidence?" Rafael asks as he finishes washing his hands. "We can't just leave it here."

"We have to," Sonny says. He meets Rafael's gaze in the mirror, and his eyes are flat compared to Rafael's own angry look. "I have backups," he says.

"Then why bring it with us?" Rafael asks. "We could have left the building a lot easier without those boxes."

"It was a feint," Sonny says as he walks over near the entrance of the restroom to use the hand dryer. Rafael does as well, and they don't speak again until they're both done. "I'm hoping that whoever the dirty feds are, we can distract them by having them fight with the airline to get the records. The airline's not going to just hand them over. They'll require a court order. That's going to take time, especially since any fed who's trying to get them will have to explain to a judge exactly why I walked out with their evidence."

"I'm assuming you have backups, then," Rafael says, thinking of the flash drive that Sonny had left behind in the conference room. 

"Several," Sonny says. 

"That's…" It takes Rafael a couple of moments to find the right words. "If you were a defense attorney, I would both respect and hate you right now."

Sonny grins. "Thanks, I think."

"It's a compliment," Rafael replies. "In fact, I can think of a couple of people I wouldn't be surprised to know they have done something similar."

"Well, when we're back in New York, you can call them and say so."

Rafael doesn't reply right away. Sonny's tone is friendly and reassuring, like he thinks Rafael needs to hear something positive right now. It's not that he doesn't, exactly. It's that he's just realized that Sonny's been reassuring him throughout this whole thing. "When you planned everything about getting away, you didn't expect a second person."

"No, I didn't," Sonny answers. He jerks his chin towards the door. A small crowd of men are walking in. "Come on," he says. He maneuvers them around the crowd so they're tucked against the hall-wall that makes up part of the doorway of the restroom. They don't speak as another crowd of men come in. It's a couple of minutes before the men start leaving again, and Sonny touches Rafael's arm lightly as the first few leave. He keeps his hand there as another cluster of men leave. Before Rafael can ask what he's waiting for, a third cluster of men--all in hoodies and baseball caps--start to exit. Sonny taps Rafael's elbow, and they fall in with the group. 

Rafael thinks of all the security footage he's watched in his career. A group of men, all dressed basically the same, of varying height and weight, all with their faces at least partially obscured by their ball caps, will be impossible to tell apart unless someone is absolutely eagled-eyed. 

They walk with the crowd of men back through security, and then make their way to the front doors, blending in with other groups doing the same. They step outside, and Sonny leads them to the first free cab, slipping in and sliding over so Rafael has room to get in as well.

The cab driver shuts the door behind them, then gets in the driver's seat. "Where you going?" he asks. 

"Convention Center," Sonny answers. 

"Something going on this week?"

"Not from us, we're just in town to meet with some organizers and see the space."

Rafael stays quiet as Sonny creates a backstory wholly off the top of his head. At least he thinks it's from the top of his head. But as Sonny goes into detail about being an event organizer out from New York to possibly expand into the Pacific Northwest due to market research showing interest, Rafael wonders if this is something else he's been working on for a long time. 

The Convention Center has twin, glass spires jutting out from the roof. Sonny thanks the driver and pays in cash. Rafael steps out of the cab and walks around the back to meet Sonny on the sidewalk. "Now, what?" he asks.

"We go inside," Sonny answers like it's that easy. 

"After that, I mean," Rafael replies as Sonny opens the door and gestures for Rafael to walk in first. 

"One thing at a time," Sonny says. He rolls his shoulders like they itch but he doesn't want to admit it, and Rafael realizes he's nervous being out in the open. 

Rafael steps into the convention center and glances around. There are a few people walking around, and there's a small restaurant with a handful of people sitting and eating. The information desk is to the left. It's staffed with two elderly ladies in white smocks. "Follow my lead," he says, and he doesn't miss the flash of surprise on Sonny's face as Rafael walks up to the desk and greets the women with a smile. 

"Hello," he says, "My sister called and said she's here for some event she thinks I'll love, but her phone was breaking up pretty badly, so I'm not sure where she is or even which event she's at."

The ladies smile at him. "Well, we have a corporate event going on today," one of the ladies says. "There's also a bead show and an oddities expo."

"It's got to be the oddities expo," Rafael says. "She loves beads, but she wouldn't call me to come and look at them with her."

"You'll want Hall B, then," the woman tells him. "Just down the escalator here and it'll be on your left."

"Thank you," Rafael says. He turns and tips his head towards the escalators. "Come on, she'll be psyched to see you."

Sonny nods and follows silently as Rafael leads them to the escalators. "What the fuck was that?" Sonny asks in an undertone once they're on the lower floor. 

Rafael shakes his head, then surprises himself with a laugh. "No idea," he admits. "It just seemed like the thing to do."

"I'm impressed," Sonny replies as they step off the escalator. They walk down to Hall B. The doors are open, showing a busy-looking exhibitor space. There's a temporary stand off to one side, and Rafael walks over and buys two badges on lanyards to be allowed inside.

"Thanks," Sonny says, taking the badge and dropping it over his head. "I have to warn you, I kind of like tacky shit. I don't know what's in there, but I might impulse buy something really stupid."

"I absolutely do not have a shelf of ugly knick knacks in my home office," Rafael replies, deadpan. 

Sonny chuckles and accepts a program a convention center staffer hands him. He rolls it in his hands as they step into the exhibit hall and pause to take in the crowd. 

"I see something ceramic shaped like a zombie head," Sonny says.

"Lead the way," Rafael replies, his own chuckle escaping him. 

The booth with the ceramic zombie head also makes mugs that look like brains and battered, old doll heads. Sonny picks up each piece and chats briefly with the woman running the booth. She's designed all her items herself, she says, and she has more on her website. Sonny takes a card and promises to take a look. 

They wander down the aisle slowly, taking in a wide variety of things that apparently fall under "oddities." There's a booth full of creatures made of wrapped wire and fuzzy yarn. A small publisher who reprints old--and terrifying, Rafael discovers when he flips through a few pages--guides for home remedies of common ailments. There's a booth with dildos made from various crystals with a prominent sign explaining that they should only be used for decoration, not any sort of internal fun.

"I want to read the brief on that lawsuit," Sonny mutters. 

Rafael snorts quietly in agreement as they round the corner and work their way up the next aisle. Designers selling T-shirts with monster faces. A booth of handcrafted Ouija boards and other tools for contacting spirits. A yarn dyer whose stock is named after famous criminals. Rafael stops to look at the stock. "My grandmother still knits," Rafael says to Sonny. "She likes good-quality yarn." He pets a few of the hanks of yarn, pleased to find them all soft. 

"Can I help you find something?" the woman behind the table asks. She's wearing skull earrings and a necklace with tiny butcher knives strung on it. 

"What merinos do you have?" Rafael asks. 

"I've got a whole line named after famous mobsters," the woman says, and next to him, Rafael hears Sonny choke but doesn't look over for fear he's going to laugh. "I call it the Mafi-softo line because of how soft the wool is."

Rafael nods very seriously as Sonny turns sharply on his heel and walks across the aisle to look at the table on that side. Rafael is certain he's trying to hold it together as badly as he is himself. He ends up choosing a half-dozen skeins in a deep green he knows _Abuelita_ will enjoy. It's only as he's reaching for his debit card to pay for it that he realizes it could be tracked. 

"Oh, I can take cards," the woman says, picking up on his hesitation. "I've got a Square, and the Wi-Fi is functioning pretty well today."

Sonny's at Rafael's elbow instantly, pulling out his own wallet and handing the woman cash. "We pulled cash out so we don't overspend," he says to the woman, flashing her a bright smile. 

She smiles in return and takes the cash, then hands Sonny the change before tucking all the yarn into a small paper bag. "Thank you!" she says to Rafael.

Rafael nods, taking the bag. Sonny touches his elbow and leads him away from the table, ambling them slowly down the rest of the aisle, though Rafael is aware that neither of them are looking at anything. 

Sonny leads them to an empty space along the far wall and takes a quick scan of the room before looking at Rafael. "You realized your card can be tracked, huh?"

Rather than agreeing, Rafael deflects. "How much cash are you carrying?"

Sonny shrugs and leans against the wall next to Rafael, their shoulders almost touching. "I'm a mobster on the run. How much do you think?"

Rafael tips his head back and stares at the giant lights that line the ceiling of the exhibit hall. "I thought I was being clever finding some way to stay in the convention center long enough that anyone trying to track us would lose track."

"You did really well," Sonny replies. "I was just going to cut through to the other side, but finding somewhere to wander for a bit covers us nicely."

Rafael looks around the room, watching the crowds ebb and flow through various aisles. "We blend in here," he says, touching the brim of his hat in reference. A lot of the other people in the room are dressed similarly to them in hoodies and baseball caps.

"Well, you do," Sonny replies. "I know what my accent sounds like."

Rafael bites his bottom lip as he thinks. "Why didn't you go into Witness Protection?" he asks. 

"Well, my accent," Sonny says, self-deprecating and clearly trying to get a response from Rafael. Rafael cuts him a quick look and manages a small smile. Sonny leans over enough to bump their shoulders together. "But honestly, even if I could unlearn my accent, I don't wanna lose the family I can keep."

"Bella," Rafael says. 

"Bella," Sonny agrees. "And some others. Not everyone in the family is in The Family."

Rafael smiles at the fact that he can hear the capitalization in Sonny's voice. "I promise I'll stop having...moments...sooner rather than later."

"Hey, it's okay. Let's find something tacky for your bookshelf and get out of here. I think I'm getting that doll head mug."

"I thought you liked the zombie," Rafael says, taking the opening Sonny is giving him to get away from their more serious conversation. 

"Maybe I'll get both," Sonny replies. "Why the fuck not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, M, for the beta!
> 
> The Oddities is a real show that happens at the Oregon Convention Center, but I have never been. A couple of the booths I described are crafters I know from other shows and the rest is a guess at what might be at such a show.

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday gift for mforpaul! Which is clearly not going to be a single chapter because my brain would not allow it. I hope you like it as it spools out!
> 
> The Bonanno Family is one of the Five Families in NYC and has a big stake in Staten Island, so it seemed like the right place to put Sonny's family, re: mob ties. Outside of that, I am going to try to NOT drown myself in real-life details because that way lies seven new books from the library and way too many documentaries.
> 
> Thanks to M for the beta on chapter 1!


End file.
